No One Left: Annie and Johanna
by Apples 'n' PB
Summary: "Just a couple of years ago, she thought there was no one left that she loved. Back then, she felt herself cloaked in that belief. Today, it seems to scald her skin and it rings true now more than ever." Post-Mockingjay


Jo nervously checks the clock for the thousandth time.

"It's so good of you to come," Annie says, rising to pour the tea.

Johanna grits her teeth. Annie is one of the few people she bothers to refrain from insulting. She's trying extra hard today since this conversation has to remain decent and normal in order to be a success. She settles on: "I was in the area and thought 'why not'?"

Annie smiles serenely. It's one of her good days. She seems like herself, her true self, a person Jo has only met a handful of times or been told of. Annie sets the tray on the coffee table.

Once Jo has taken as much time she can possibly take to put three sugar cubes in her drink, she speaks. "How is Finn?"

"Wonderful." Annie's smile does a better job lighting up the room than the sun does. Always has. "He would've liked to see you again but he's napping, I'm sorry."

Johanna isn't. "It's alright." She's forgotten how to smile in a way that isn't taunting or sarcastic, so she doesn't bother.

"Have you figured out where you'll go?" Annie asks politely.

"Nope. But I'll figure it out." It's been eight months since the end of the rebellion. She'd been eager to get out from under the thumb of District 13 only to find herself confused, wandering like a nomad. A few months here, a few weeks there. It probably made no difference where she went. Everything and everyone was recovering and rebuilding, no shock there.

"Are you sure you don't want to return to District Eight?"

"I'm sure," Johanna says sharply. She isn't like Annie. Being shrouded with reminders of what she lost is not comforting. It makes her angrier and angrier to the point where she wants to scream and break and make _someone_ pay, yet she still doesn't know who that someone is.

Annie nods, lost in her own world. "It's lovely to be back, for me. By the sea. Mrs. Mare down the street is going to teach Finn to swim as soon as he gets big enough. He'll love it."

Jo sips her drink. She really wishes Annie could've been more original with the naming.

"'My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep. The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite,'" Annie says with a flourish.

Jo has no idea what to make of this speech. "What are you talking about?"

"Just something my grandmother used to say," Annie sighs dreamily.

She's losing her attention. She needs to act now. "How...interesting. You were close?"

"Very. She was beautiful. Her dancing was as graceful as the waves of the sea. Her picture's next to you on that table. She would've loved Finn, I think. She loved Finnick. So much." Annie blinks a few times, trying to stop the tears before they come. Johanna has to give her credit for that - that these days she attempts to not fall to pieces.

"Well, he could be a bit much, but I guess he was alright," Johanna smirks if only to fill the silence.

Annie smiles softly, either not noticing the sarcasm or not acknowledging it. Likely the former.

"Hey. Uh, speaking of which -" Jo reaches into her pocket. Now seems like a good time. "I found something that you might like to have."

Annie takes the necklace from Jo. Her watery green eyes widen at the jewelry. The gold pendant is small but it's a lovely thing made all the more beautiful by its simplicity. "This is Finnick's."

Ah. So she must have seen him wear it before. Johanna lies easily. "Yeah, I'm not sure how it ended up in my kitchen drawer, but hey. You want it?"

Annie grins.

It's much easier to lean back and sip her over-sugared tea than to give Annie more truths than either of them would like her to divulge. Yes, it was better to let Annie cradle her dead husband's jewelry and picture a life where they were both here together. It gives Jo more time to reminisce, in fragments, to think of the warmth in his eyes and the steadiness in his voice. Of promises he never made (but she wished he would) and every embrace they ever shared. Because for a (short) time, that was a piece of her world.

_If Annie never crept up on him…_

No. She will allow herself to think of this and no more. She is not his widow so she doesn't deserve to clutch her heart or ball her eyes out or hold onto his things.

Annie meets her eyes. "Thank you for bringing this, Johanna."

"It's no trouble." It isn't, really, when she's thinking rationally.

Annie grabs Jo's wrist and drops the necklace back into her hand. "But you may keep it."

"What? Why?" Jo is not used to Annie being anything other than nice, but this is excessive.

"I have so many things to remind me of him." Anne gestures to the photographs on the walls. "And you have none. Besides, you loved him, too. Oh, are you hungry?"

Johanna gapes at her, feeling rather clueless and young, (sort of like Brainless). Annie is still talking but Johanna feels the need to interrupt. "I wouldn't say 'love'," she says with a practiced eye roll. "Finnick had his merits but he reeked of perfumes half the time."

Annie just gives her a sad smile, one that makes Johanna second guess which of the two of them is stronger and wiser. "You have to stay for dinner," she says. "I normally dine with the Mares but now that you're here, I finally get a chance to cook again. That'll be fun! So do you prefer…"

Johanna stares off into space while Annie bustles back to the kitchen, prattling on about something inane Jo can't quite keep up with.

The balance shifts. Everything would stay together if she didn't admit she loved him, she thought. Life was always about protecting, surviving, feeling just enough to get by but not so much that she longed for a different world.

Just a couple of years ago, she thought there was no one left that she loved. Back then, she felt herself cloaked in that belief. Today, it seems to scald her skin and it rings true now more than ever.

Did she love him? Was she capable of that, even? She, with blood on her hands too thick to scrub away, with a mouth that could only speak to hurt and accuse and curse.

Johanna is so upset with Annie she strides into the kitchen to help her with the meal. She snatches an onion out of the redhead's hands and begins to chop it furiously. Annie tells her she's doing it wrong but Johanna ignores her and nearly cuts her fingers.

"You don't have to be so nice all the time," Jo mutters.

"What?" Annie's hearing has never been very good.

"I said you don't have to be so nice all the time," Jo repeats, angrier. The sting is kind of taken out the words if she has to repeat it.

Annie bites her lip, unsure. Then she says, "You don't have to be so hard all the time." The words come out so fast Johanna isn't sure she even heard them.

"What did you just say to me?" Johanna spits. It's the best she can come up with. She didn't expect Annie to say that.

Apparently, neither did she, since Annie's eyes go wide as saucers. Still, she continues. "I mean it, Johanna. You think being cold and hard will keep yourself from getting hurt. It doesn't work."

"We don't all have the luxury of gazing off into space and forgetting the world, Annie." These words are meant to cut to the bone.

"Do you think it's easy for me? Or Beetee or Haymitch or Katniss or any of them? Sometimes...sometimes…"

"Sometimes, what?"

"You act like you're the only one who went through the games!"

Annie's face is red. She immediately apologizes. Johanna is pretty sure she mumbles a response. She simply takes a potato and begins peeling it. Then another, another, another, another.

When Annie speaks again, they are almost done the cooking. It's amazing how much they were able to accomplish without speaking. "You know," she starts. "Finnick told me you weren't like the rest of us."

"Yeah?"

"He said you lost more than most of us. He never went into detail," Annie rushes before Johanna can think to be angry. "He just said that you love quieter than others but twice as strong."

"He never was good at making much sense, was he?"

Annie frowns before snickering. "No."

Johanna smiles.

Annie begins to serve the soup. "He loved you, you know. And don't kill me for saying it, because I won't apologize this time. He loved lots of people and he told them and he felt things."

Johanna blames the many onions in their stew for the tears that _almost_ come. "Sure he did. Until he died."

Annie _almost_ goes into that daydream state but snaps back out of it. She has to now. For Finn. "Yeah. And I don't think he died with many regrets. And he certainly didn't die so the rest of us could go on afraid to feel."

Johanna knows better than to tell Annie she's not afraid of anything. She'll just get schooled on that, too. Part of her _wants_ Annie to do just that - give her permission to be afraid the same way she's given her permission to love. Because, damn it, while everyone simply told her it was her right to be angry and hurt, no one's ever made her feel she had a right to be anything but that.

"Did I give you enough soup?" Annie asks.

"It's fine." Both of them are eating much less than they want, Johanna knows. There's still that lingering fear that someone will break in, tell them the games are back on, and they'll have to go back into survival mode."It's really good, too."

"You did help."

"I guess."

Finn chooses that moment to make his presence known. His cries echo throughout the room. "I'll get him," says Johanna.

The beautiful boy in the crib hit the genetics lottery. He's a perfect blend of his mother and his father. She picks him up and begins to shoosh him. With big sea-green eyes, he gazes up at Jo in that amazed way babies always stare. Johanna sniffs his little head, where a bit of red hair is growing in. He no longer has that new baby smell. Oh, well. He's still adorable.

Annie walks in. "He calmed down faster with you than he does with me."

"Maybe he's curious because he's not used to me." As an afterthought, she adds, "And I'm good with kids. Surprised?"

"A little."

"Most people are." She's glad. Why would she want to look like the motherly type?

"Did you have siblings?" Annie presses. Why on earth does she always need to push?!

"Yes," Johanna says tersely. She's going to leave it at that when she realizes that her family deserves better than that. And Annie's not the worst person to tell this. "My baby sister, Paige, was six. Bobby was just four. I took care of them a lot when my mother went to work. Sometimes, I watched the neighbors' kids, too, if they didn't have older children."

Annie tells her, "I love kids, too."

"I never said I enjoyed it. Kids can be the worst." Or at least, they can grow up to become the worst.

"Finn's not so bad, right? He really likes you."

Once the baby is back asleep, Johanna puts him in the crib. The two women walk down the hall back into the living room.

"I should go now, actually," says Johanna. She wants to get out now before she feels too guilty and leaves the necklace behind.

"Of course. Oh, wait, Jo," Annie says. "I want to ask you a question."

"Yes?" Johanna asks, wary. It's clear it's not a question she'll like, judging by the nervous look on Annie's face.

"It's just...you're so good with Finn, and I know you don't like kids -"

"You're right, I don't."

"But I'd appreciate it if you could be his nanny of sorts. Or a godmother, if you wanted."

"Why me? Why not Mrs. Mare or one of your friends?"

Annie looks so helpless that even Jo pities her a bit. "I would, but most people are hard at work putting the district back together. My savings will run out before I know it if I don't get back to work. Plus, I'd like it to be someone I can trust. It'll only be a few months, Jo, and then I'll find someone permanent. Please say you'll do it."

Johanna considers this. On one hand, the thought of being stuck in Four with her only distraction a crying infant and his flighty mother sounds awful. On the other hand, she's not used to people begging for her help and she grimaces at the idea of turning away someone who was desperate enough to ask _her_ for assistance.

It's more complicated than that, she thinks. This is Finnick's child. Finnick, who she managed to love despite every fiber of her being rebelling against it. This is Annie's child. Annie, who did more for her in an hour than her shrink did in eight months. Not that Johanna would ever tell her that.

Jo rolls her eyes. "For a few weeks. As a trial."

Annie gives her a quick hug, releasing the shorter girl before she risks getting shoved. She learns quickly.

"Don't go crying on me," complains Johanna. "And for the love of all things sacred, do _not_ call me a godmother or nanny ever again."

Annie agrees. This time Johanna allows her friend to go on and on talking and attempts to pay attention.

There might be no one left, but things didn't have to stay that way. No. They shouldn't.

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**A/N: Reviews make the world go round.**


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